The Edge of Vengeance
by SoutherWriter611
Summary: It was something they thought they had hidden. They knew the information would be used against him. Someone found out, now it's a race against time to save her. She was his sister. She was fighting for her life. *IN PROGRESS*
1. Chapter 1

**The Edge of Vengeance**

"Lindy. Lindy, please." His voice broke. His stomach sank. A sob caught in his throat. The room began to spin, he closed his eyes and waited.

He watched her. He touched her. He gently pushed several wisps of hair out of her face. He held her hand. She shuttered at his touch. She was broken. He saw it in her eyes when she looked at him. He heard it in her raspy breathing. They should leave; he should pick her up and carry her out. He knew better though, the last thing he wanted to do was make things worse. If things got worse, she might…she could….statistically her chances….no. Never mind, he wouldn't think about that. He wouldn't let her become a statistic. She was Spencer Reid's little sister and she was fighting for her life.

It was a beautiful, early, spring morning in Charlotte, North Carolina. Lindley Barrett reached across the bed and looked at her phone - 7:04am. She sighed. It had been a late night and the last thing she wanted to do was get up and run. She would do it though, as always. It was the usual early morning battle. Sleep a little later or run a little longer. Running won out. It cleared her mind, got her creative juices flowing and gave her motivation a swift kick in the rear. She was a writer after all. With her next deadline right around the corner she could not afford a week's worth of writers block. So, she got up, threw on a sports bra and a pair of yoga capris. She dug around the drawer for a pair of matching socks, walked to the living room for her running shoes, the kitchen for a water bottle and walked out the back door.

He walked into the building, squinting behind his sunglasses. He needed coffee and he needed headache relief. He got into the elevator and pressed the number for the BAU floor. His stomach churned as the box began to rise. It wasn't until the doors opened that he realized he had been holding his breath. He walked out exhaling. He turned left and headed toward his desk and the saving grace of warm, brewed caffeine. He poured a cup, added two packets of sugar and took a small sip as his teammates walked in.

"Morning." He greeted Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss. They smiled in return.

"Morning, Reid." Prentiss said. "Good weekend?"

"Alright." He answered.

He made his way back to his desk, knowing his inclination to rattle away facts and statistics first thing in the morning. He just didn't feel up to it. He sat down in his chair and stirred his coffee when Jennifer Jareau, JJ, walked through the door.

"Hotch wants everyone to meet now. We've got a kidnapping case in Charlotte North Carolina." She said.

At the mention of that particular city in that particular state, his head snapped up. Charlotte, North Carolina had a population of 731,424 according to the 2010 US Census. The odds of an individual getting kidnapped were 1:610,000, but didn't they see those odds defied everyday? He mentally scanned through all the previous victim photos from the past 7 years. A feat made possible thanks to his eidetic memory. Those they saved and those they hadn't. The families that they had comforted and consoled, he wondered what would have happened if someone told those families those kidnapping statistics.

They all began to gather their belongings and move toward the meeting room.

"Hey Genius, you coming?" Morgan asked

"Uh, yeah. Yes." He said, pulling the strap to his brown messenger bag over his shoulder. He grabbed his coffee and followed Morgan into the room. David Rossi was already there, waiting. He looked up, as the three younger agents filed into the room. They sat around the table and watched as JJ shuffled her folders.

"Okay guys and dolls, we've got some missing babies in Charlotte." Penelope Garcia said as she made her way into the room, handing out tablets to everyone but Reid. He preferred the feel of the folder in his hands. He enjoyed the process of sorting through records and writing notes in the margin as his brain ticked of the mistakes of others.

"I'm sorry, babies? As in literal crying, pooping babies? Prentiss asked.

"Oh, um no, young women, young ladies in the Charlotte area. Sorry, love." Garcia corrected.

"I'm not sure that's any different. They're still victims" Aaron Hotchner said from the back of the room. "Garcia." Hotch said again, signaling their tech specialist to continue.

"Yes sir. The bodies of three young women ages between 22 and 25 have been found in dumpsters all around downtown Charlotte." She clicked her pointer toward the screen and the picture of a pretty brunette filled the screen.

"Margaret Sutton, 24 was found two weeks ago in a dumpster behind a local supermarket. Her body was covered in bruises and small cuts. Restraint marks on her wrists and ankles. Small electrical burns also covered her body.

Chloe Denners, 22 was found 8 days ago in a dumpster on the other side of the city. Her body was also covered in bruises, cuts and burns, same restraint marks also.

Leah Archer, 25 found two days ago again a dumpster dump. Bruises, cuts and burns, the same in all three cases. Also, 2 days ago Lindley Barrett was reported missing by her publisher, Susan Cranston. She…."

Reid dropped his coffee. The ceramic cup hit the floor and shattered. He made no movement to pick it up. He made no movement at all.

"Reid?" Hotch asked.

For the first time in his young life Spencer Reid's glorious mind was blank. Void of all thought whatsoever. He didn't even register the fact that his boss was calling his name. All he heard were the four words stated by Penelope Garcia; "Lindley Barrett was reported missing." What were those statistics? Wrong. They odds of being kidnapped couldn't have been so vast. Not if Lindy was a victim. They thought the name difference would have kept her safe. She moved to Charlotte after college and quickly gained a publishing deal. She was a fantastic writer. No one knew. They made sure no one knew, but now, now everyone would know. She would be in constant danger. Someone would find a way to use her as leverage against him and the team, if the hadn't already.

"Spence?" It was JJ's voice that brought him out of his thoughts.

"Spence, what's wrong?" JJ asked again. He looked up. They were all staring at him. Concern on their faces at the suspicious actions of their youngest member.

"Reid." Hotch asked again, a little more forceful this time. He looked up at Hotch.

"She's my sister. Lindley Barrett is my sister." The genius said.


	2. Chapter 2

"She's my sister. Lindley Barrett is my sister." The genius said.

They said nothing. The room was silent. More than anything, they were surprised.

"Spence? You have a sister? Why didn't you tell us?" JJ asked.

"She was hidden. She was safe. We thought…." He started, but the words caught in his throat when he realized it was her picture now on the screen. He stared at it for a few seconds, the team waiting, and then his mind suddenly kicked into gear.

"When was she taken? Where was she taken from? What was she wearing? The other girls how did they…..how did…." He struggled to finish. "How did the other girls die?"

Still they stared. He looked at them as panic began to filter into every fiber of his being.

"Reid, perhaps you should…" Rossi began, but the doctor cut him off.

"No." He said and looked at Hotch. "No."

"Alright then. Garcia." Aaron Hotchner said again. Garcia wiped her eyes, and began.

"Lindley Barrett was um, reported missing 48 hours ago from the Charlotte Metro area. She is a 25-year-old writer. Her publicist, Susan Cranston reported her missing to the Charlotte Police twenty-four hours ago. She told police that Lindley spends her mornings running the same streets in her neighborhood. Police have searched her apartment in downtown Charlotte. She wasn't robbed. We have the cooperation of both the Charlotte Metro Police Department and the Mecklenburg County Sheriff's Office." She stopped and looked at Reid.

"Garcia. Please continue. We're in a hurry." Reid said. She continued.

"All three girls were murdered in different ways. Margaret was electrocuted, Chloe was beaten to death and Leah was suffocated."

"What makes the police think these murders are connected, if all three girls were killed in different ways?" Prentiss asked.

"Look at them." Morgan said as the pictures of all four girls filled the screen. The similarities were uncanny, long brunette hair, green or blue eyes, full lips. All four girls were well off. Margaret worked for a local radio station, Chloe owned a catering company, Leah played violin with the Charlotte Symphony and Lindley was a writer.

"He knew exactly who he was looking for. The other girls were just practice. He chose them all for a purpose." Morgan continued.

"Me." Reid said. "He wanted Lindley, to get to me." The young man stood up, and walked out, his chair still spinning as he turned the corner.

He slammed the bathroom door shut. Gasping for air, grabbing for the sink as his vision blurred and the room began to spin. A thousand thoughts fought for control in his mind. Lindley. She had already been missing for forty-eight hours. Why had they waited so long to call them? Maybe if someone had known that she was his sister, they would have been notified sooner. If they had known she was his sister, none of this would have happened. She would have been protected. That was his job, as her older brother. Protect Lindley. He had failed miserably. He couldn't protect his mother, and he couldn't protect his sister. Sweat trailed down his face. The heat of a sudden flush filled his cheeks and the acidic tang of bile began to rise up in his throat. He turned sharply, barely making it to the toilet before his coffee came back up.

* * *

Confusion. Panic. Pain. Panic. Panic. Panic. It was so dark when she opened her eyes that she consciously closed and opened them again, just to be sure.

Panic.

Her other senses kicked into overdrive. Sound: only her labored breathing. She held her breath to calm her nerves, but only made herself dizzy. She closed her eyes again, leaning back. Clear mind, clear body. Clear mind, clear body. She repeated the mantra until her breathing evened out. Eventually, she began to take stock of her physical condition. Head throbbing in a dull ache, neck sore with pain that got worse when she turned left or right. Arms and fingers moving, knees bending, legs move, chains rattle. Chains rattle?

Panic.

Her left leg was shackled. She followed the chain. Her left leg was shackled AND bolted to the floor. The chain was heavy and the manacle bit into her ankle every time she moved. Not only was she sitting in pitch-black darkness, with no memory of how she got there, but she was also shackled and chained to the floor. Everything she and Spencer had tried so hard to prevent was happening.

Panic.

She fought a rising urge to scream, almost giving in when a bright light flooded the room. The scream turned into a choking gasp and she flinched back in surprise. Her head hit the wall with a dull thud, eyes shut tight against the sudden onslaught. She pulled her arms and legs in, attempting to protect herself from whatever came next.

"Lindley Barrett." A voice bellowed into the room.

"You are here because of a Dr. Spencer Reid – of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. I think perhaps you've heard of him?" The voice was male and he spat Spencer's name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. She waited for what he would say next, but the room went dark. She jumped again.

Panic.

She wasn't sure what was worse, the blinding light or the deep darkness. It always took her eyes a few minutes to adjust between the two extremes. The pounding in her head was getting unbearable. Sometimes when the light came on she heard his heavy breathing. He was watching her. That realization sent chills down her spine. The second time the light came on she took the opportunity to look around at her environment and check her injuries. The room she was in was large and windowless. There was a door to her right at the other end of the room. The light came from a single lamp in each corner. The walls were concrete; the chain was fastened to an eyehook that had been driven into the floor. She struggled with it for a few seconds but, as she figured, nothing happened. She checked the manacle around her ankle, but the light suddenly went out. She sighed.

The light came on for a third time, before she considered counting the seconds to figure out how long it stayed on. Next time, she thought. I'll catch it from the very beginning. Hopefully, there would be a next time. Since the light was already on this time, she scrambled to check her ankle. It was red and raw. It had been bleeding, but it seemed to have stopped some time ago. She stood up and realized the chain was longer than she originally thought. She was able to pace in an area about six feet wide. She walked toward the door as far as the chain would let her. Even stretching, she was still three feet from it. She wasn't surprised, but knew she needed to try. She felt the manacle dig into her ankle even more with every step she took. It started to bleed again, so she sat back down, sucking the air through her teeth at the fresh pain. The light went out again. As soon as the light came on for the fourth time, Lindley began to count. At the three-minute mark, the light went out. The fifth time the light came on, she asked for water.

"Please. I need something to drink. I need some water, please." She said. Her voice echoed off the empty, cold walls.

"Please."

When the light came on for the sixth time, the door opened. She was huddled in the corner farthest from the door, knees pulled up to her chest, head on her knees. The opening was just big enough for the bottle of water that rolled toward her. She jumped up and quickly crawled toward it. She unscrewed the cap and took two big gulps of water. It was room temperature, but it was better than nothing. The water burned her dry throat. She coughed, sighed and drank again. Slower and deeper this time, relishing the satisfaction of finally quenching her thirst. The door was still open.

"What do you want?" She cried out

"You know who I am! What do you want?" The door slammed in reply and the light went out.

Panic.


	3. Chapter 3

He was eighteen years old, an adult in the eyes of the law. He could vote, buy cigarettes, lottery tickets and join the Armed Forces. He could also become a health care proxy, making important medical decisions, like having his mother committed.

Every second of that day is seared into his mind. He could close his eyes and replay every movement, every tear, and every ounce of guilt. He thought he knew he was doing what was best. She needed more help than he could provide. Maybe, if he was honest with himself, she needed more help than he was_ willing _to provide. It played out exactly as he thought. They came in, they took her out and she pleaded with them, with _him _the entire time. He could do nothing but stand back and apologize. He was sorry, so sorry. Even today. It took Spencer Reid two years to visit his mother at the institution he condemned her to.

By the time he was twenty-two he was firmly established in the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Much to his dismay, all his coworkers saw his as a child, someone they had to protect. Everything he did, was in trying to prove himself to them. Spencer had been taking care of himself for as long as he could remember. The team was on a case in his hometown of Las Vegas, when his mother asked her son to visit. He agreed, after the case was solved. Three days after coming back home, Spencer visited his mother. He stayed in Vegas two extra days while the rest of the team flew back to Virginia. She smiled when she saw him. Just smiled. She was happy to see her traitor of a son. Sometimes, he wished she would scream at him. Tell him how disappointed in him she was. He watched for the anger, but it was only joy. And pride. He was the only one who couldn't forgive himself. It was in her room, with the windows open and a slight breeze ruffling the curtains, that Diana Reid changed her son's life forever.

Her name is Lindley.

He was speechless. She waited, knowing her son would wage a war against his emotions, letting rational thought win out. She watched as the battle played out in his face. Her brilliant son fought so hard to keep appearances. She knew he struggled against the way others saw him. He has always been the youngest; always the smartest and everyone assumed he needed protection.

Her son was the strongest person she had ever known.

He did what she knew few others could do. Looking back, she recognized how neglectful of a mother she was. She couldn't fully blame herself; she knew he wouldn't let her. She was sick, but here, here she was getting the help she needed. It put things into perspective. She was trying to make amends; however small. It was her husband who convinced her to put their daughter up for adoption. It was during one of her rare lucid moments. Diana remembered holding their baby girl. She remembered her tiny pink fists balled up and flailing as she screamed. She remembered the light brown fuzz on the top of her head as she kissed her. She remembered her smell, that beautiful baby smell. She knew she needed to give this little baby the best life possible.

She remembered Spencer, curled in a ball in his bed; her genius son was small for his age. He had a black eye for two weeks thanks to some kids at school. She decided then, to pull him out. No child of hers will be subjected to that treatment. She would teach him herself. They spend hours reading in her bed with the curtains drawn to keep out the sun. They would even read in the middle of the night. She would wake him up; they'd run outside barefoot, lay in the grass. They would talk about the skies, the stars and the moon, constellations and their ancient stories. They would stay up all night and sleep all day.

"Mother?" Spencer asked, concerned. Diana shook her head, clearing her mind of those memories.

"I have a sister? How old is she? Where does she live? Does she know about me? Does she know about you? What was her name? You gave her up? What made you decide to do that? Does dad know?" he spilled out all at once.

She almost laughed; so many questions. His need for answers was his way of dealing with the shock of this situation. Diana took her time, deciding on the best way to finally share everything with her son. He deserved to know. She took a breath.

"Yes, Spencer. You have a sister. She is five years younger than you. Her name is Lindley Reid Barrett. I have no contact with her adoptive parents. I was hoping you could find her, and no. She doesn't know about you."

It didn't take Spencer long before he tracked down Lindley Reid Barrett. She was 18 and a sophomore at The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He decided to meet her and introduce himself. It was a windy day in March when Spencer finally made his way to North Carolina. Spencer stumbled through a few short interactions before he was finally headed to where he was told she would be. He had memorized the layout of the campus, but wasn't sure where Lindley would be at this point in the day. Finally, as he rounded a corner he knew he had found her. His sister. She was taller, though not as tall as he, she was thin also. Athletic. He was instantly jealous. She was obviously better at social situations than he. She spoke with a small group of people with grace and ease, laughing and lightly touching the arm of a male beside her. Boyfriend? We'll see about that, he thought. The group dispersed as he set off across the lawn.

* * *

Lindley watched the papers she dropped fly across the quad. Awesome. She rushed about flapping wildly, trying to grab the papers. She sighed, all that hard work, literally gone with the wind.

"Um, excuse me. Lindley?" A male voice from behind her asked. She stood up and turned to face the young man behind her. He was tall, skinny. His brown hair sat in an unruly mop atop his head. He wore slacks and a sweater vest. There was something in the way he stood, something in his expression. She couldn't place it. He seemed nervous but confident at the same time. It seemed like he was fighting for the words to say next. She assumed it was because he thought she was cute. She had gotten that before, the hesitant invitation from a guy whom wasn't too sure. Lindley squinted in the sun behind him and waited. The stranger shifted his weight from left to right. She sighed again.

"I'm Lindy." She said, finally. His eyes grew large but he quickly looked relieved.

"Lindley, I….I'm, I mean you are….um, we… he struggled.

She pitied him. He was making this a lot harder than it needed to be. Just ask me out, she thought. Say the words and get it over with.

"What's your name?" she asked, trying to ease the situation.

"Spencer. Spencer Reid." He said.

She froze. Reid?

Lindley was 12 when she discovered she was adopted. The discovery didn't change anything between her and her parents but it sparked a flame of hunger in their young daughter. Lindley made it her personal mission to find her birth parents. It took her four years to find any information on her family, but when she did, it was a name: Reid. Diana Reid. By the next year she knew almost everything. Diana was a schizophrenic. She lived in a care facility in Las Vegas. Lindley also discovered she had a brother, Spencer. And now he was here.

"Spencer? How…." Lindley was at a loss for words. She understood his nervousness now, and shared in his feelings and fears. Where would this conversation go from here?

Spencer spoke up again, noticing her change in demeanor.

"I, um…I'm your…"

"I know." She said. "My brother." She smiled at him.

* * *

The room spun. She stretched, crying out at the pain that followed. Her head felt like it weighed ten times more than it should have. Her lips were dry and cracked; the shackle around her left ankle stripped the flesh from her leg. She reached out to one of the water bottles her captor rolled across the floor to her. Picking one up, she found it empty and grabbed another. Again, empty. Four bottles, all empty. She threw the last one across the room. She screamed. She screamed until the pain in her throat turned that cry into a sob. Sometime later, still sitting in the pitch black she sat up. She huddled in a corner and took a deep breath. Everything hurt, everything was cold, but her mind was clear. She sat going over everything for the twentieth time. She remembered running that morning. Running, with her music turned up and pumping, she didn't notice the car pull up beside her. She didn't notice the door open or the arms shoot out. A hand slammed over her mouth and she was pulled in the backseat. A cloth covered her face as she struggled, screamed and blacked out. She also remembered lying in bed trying to decide whether she wanted to get up or not. Next time, she'll stay in bed. Next time. Tears started to fall as she realized there might not be a next time. It was looking more and more like she'd die here. She let her head fall against the wall. Thinking like that wasn't going to help her in anyway. Spencer would find her.

Someway.

Somehow.

She must have dozed off because she jumped as the door was opened again. She had given up trying to talk to her captor. A water bottle rolled across the floor. She crawled toward it ripped off the cap and drank deeply. The water burned as it flowed down her throat. The light from the opened door reminded her that the blinding light from before hadn't gone off for a while. At one point it was going off every hour. It wasn't worth analyzing, she was just thankful. Looking up from the water bottle, she realized the door hadn't closed. This was what she would worry about. Her breath caught in her throat. A figured filled the doorway. She slid back to the wall, the chain rattling along the floor. It echoed through the room. She shivered. The figured moved from the doorway. She waited. What else could she do? She held her breath. The figure moved back into the doorway, this time with something in his hands. A bucket? She cried out as the icy water hit her body. She gasped and the breath she held pushed it's way out. Her mouth filled with water. She cried, coughed and spat it out. The door slammed shut. She sat back in the darkness wrapped her arms around her knees and gave into the trembles running in waves over her body. The light flashed back on. She turned toward the wall and cried.

* * *

Penelope Garcia sat in her tech cave staring at the backlit screens that circled her. Through these screens she could access anything. Everything. It was through these screens that she had helped save countless lives and send horrible people to jail. She was doing what no one else could. She was an essential part of the team, nothing was safe, no information was off limits. As often as they called her and depended on her knowledge to help solve the crimes, Garcia couldn't help but wonder sometimes if this room was a crutch. Her family was out in the field, while she dealt with passwords and security codes. She watched the video on the screen. She had never felt so helpless. The video itself came to her through e-mail. Of course she dismissed it right away, only stopping because of the subject line. It read "Lindley Reid Barrett". Garcia took a chance and clicked the link. It immediately took her to a webpage with a single video player. As the video began, Garcia realized with horror, what she was looking at; Spencer's sister. The one they hadn't even known existed. The young girl sat in a corner. Her leg was chained to the floor. She closed her eyes against a bright, unnatural light. Garcia watched as the light went out. The Tech Goddess of the BAU was watching a live video feed of the genius' baby sister.


	4. Chapter 4

Twenty-three hundred Americans are reported missing every day. Most of them have friends, families, loved ones who spend every hour of every day wondering what happened. What do you do with your life when someone you love, someone who had been a part of your everyday is no longer there? How do you carry on? Do you spend your time trying to live up to that person's expectations? Do you find some way to fill that void? Can you find some way to fill that void? There are countless examples of people mistakenly seeing their loved ones in public, igniting that overwhelming sense of loss all over again. The repercussions of one life changing event can be maddening for those trying to pick up the pieces.

* * *

"SPENCER!"

The urgent shouting of his name brought him out of his depressing reverie. He looked up.

They were all staring at him.

"You're bleeding." Emily said, pointing to the hand at his mouth. He pulled it away, breaking eye contact and looking down. Without even realizing it, without the warning of pain, he had bit his fingernail until it bled. A fine stream of blood flowed freely down his thumb. He stared at it for a second, waiting for the pain to start, to signal his body that something was wrong. Pain was the reminder that you were alive, it jump started the body's will to fight. What kind of pain was Lindy in? How long could she fight?

"Spender?" Emily said again. He looked back at her, got up and walked to the plane's bathroom.

The team watched him leave. He grabbed the top of each seat as he made his way to the bathroom. They all sat in silence. This was one of those rare moments when the entire team was at a loss for words. One by one they dropped their gaze from the plane's bathroom door, searching for something, anything else to look at. JJ grabbed at her long blond hair, combing through it with her fingers and watching the others. Derek gripped the armrests searching for a physical release from the tension in the air of the cabin. Aaron shuffled his case papers; distracted, he shuffled them again, lining the sheets up and tapping the edge against the table that separated him and David. After the fourth set of shuffle and tap, Dave placed his hand on the small pile and looked at Aaron. The older men had never felt so helpless. Emily stared out the window. She looked at Spencer's seat across from her own. She stared back out the window. Without realizing it she began to bite at her fingers.

The splash of the cool water against his hot skin was enough to catch his breath. He stared into the reflection of someone he did not recognize. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the urged to smash the mirror in. He craved the pain; he needed to make sure he was still alive. He needed to feel. He resigned himself to the fact that he would have to go back out to the cabin and face the rest of the team. He hated way they stared at him. Their eyes filled with pity. It angered him. Irrationally. How else were they supposed to look at him? He would have done the same. He turned the latch and walked out. The first face he found belonged to JJ. She smiled, a small, sad smile.

"Let's go over what we know." Spencer said, taking his seat opposite Emily. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

Hotch and Rossi stared at him. The young man waited. Screaming in his head. This had to be treated like any other case. They couldn't let their emotions get the better of them. He cleared his throat.

"Lindley Reid, twenty five year old female from Charlotte, North Carolina. Went missing two days ago from her neighborhood. Her publisher, Susan Cranston reported her missing after twenty-four hours. Ms. Cranston reports that Lindy, uh Lindley ran every morning. Odds are she was abducted during her run. What else have we got?"

The air became so thick, he though he might choke. He started to sweat. They all stared. They all pitied him. Poor baby Spencer. The local authorities will find his sister's body and they would worry about his sanity from that point forward. Tears started to form in his eyes. He hated himself for being weak, but there were rules to follow and steps to take. It was their organized methods that allowed them to bring victims home safely. He needed his team. He leaned on them more than he let himself believe. Spencer buried his tears and jumped into his young, genius role.

"Please. We have to find her."

* * *

The plane touched down on a small landing strip at the Charlotte Douglas International Airport two days after Lindley Reid was reported missing. The BAU's team of investigators exited the craft slowly, each trying to focus on the task ahead. Mechanically, Spencer climbed down the narrow stairs, putting one foot in front of the other without really thinking about what he was doing. The stitches that held his emotions at bay frayed. He was teetering on the edge of control and some part of him relished the thought of falling into a darkness from which there would be no return. If the one person he could not save turned out to be his little sister, someone he had only known for seven years but had loved his entire life, he would welcome the oblivion of insanity. He was closing in on his breaking point.

Aaron Hotchner shook the hand of an official in uniform waiting for them from the Charlotte Metro Police Department.

"I'm Captain Emerson, lead on the Reid case. She's the fourth female victim reported missing in two weeks. The first three were found in different places around the city, with different injuries and causes of death. We don't know much more than that, in fact we're still trying to figure out if they're all connected because of….."

"Captain." Hotch interrupted the man.

"The cases are in fact connected. The fourth victim is the sister of a member of this team. We will find her." He turned back to look at the doctor.

"Is there somewhere we can speak privately?" He asked Captain Emerson. "There are some things you need to know." Captain Emerson nodded.

"I have an office at the station. Your team can set up there."

"Thank you Captain. Guys, we're headed to the police station. We'll set up there." Hotch turned and led the team toward the black SUVs waiting for them.

* * *

Derek Morgan crossed the pavement following Hotch to the cars. He climbed in with Reid and Prentiss. Halfway to the station, his phone rang. Garcia.

"Hey baby." He said, his usual greeting cut short and solemn.

"Hey yourself, Sweets. How's our boy?" the be-speckled tech goddess asked.

Morgan chanced a glance at Reid from his peripheral. The kid sat staring out the window. Usually, he could read the boy like an open book, like the narration was screaming out his thoughts. Now though, now the book was shut tight and hidden in a room with the lights off. Impossible to see, let alone read. It was freighting.

"He's…quiet. Scary quiet, babe. I can't read him. Got anything? He asked.

"Boy do I. You wanna talk scary, someone sent me a video. Of Lindy. She's alive. This is new, Morgan. I'm not sure if I know how to handle it. Why didn't he tell us he had a sister? We're a family, I mean she would have, could have been a part of that. We should have found out, maybe we could have prevented, I mean, we could have been watching her." Garcia was rambling. She was overwhelmed.

"Wait, Garcia. Wait. Video?! Of well, you know." Morgan asked trying to get specifics without alerting Reid.

"Yes. It came through an e-mail. She's chained to the floor in an empty room. She looks terrified, but unhurt for the most part. Morgan, it's a live feed. It comes on every hour, on the hour and lasts for three minutes. Mostly she's just huddled in the corner, but this last time someone opened a door off screen and threw a bucket of what I assume was water on her. I don't even want to think about what will happen next."

"Neither do I, baby girl. Neither do I. I'll call you later okay? Thanks." Morgan said, hanging up the phone. "We have something." He said.

Reid's head snapped toward his friend.

"Lindy?" He asked.

* * *

Eventually, the panic turned to exhaustion.

She ran her tongue across her cracked lips. She laid on her back, mind numb. The stupid light flashed on again. She closed her eyes, and turned over to face the wall. The light went off three minutes later, just as she knew it would. Turning back, she reached for a bottle of water. She sat up and drank. Startled, she pulled the bottled back from her lips. She knew something was wrong. It tasted different. She wouldn't drink any more water from him. Her stomach growled. No food and now, no water. She sat back against the corner. Her vision began to swim. The walls began to swirl. She closed her eyes and gave herself into the darkness.

* * *

He watched her through the window, sometimes for hours. He grew nervous waiting in the dark. He itched for the three minutes an hour when the light burst into life. She was his greatest accomplishment; the other whores were practice. He learned how to wield a knife, carving into the skin, producing the most pain without any real damage. He harnessed the power of electricity and the beautiful way it lit up the human body. Like a Christmas tree. He studied restraints and knots, paying special attention to those hardest to escape from. In the end it didn't matter, he liked the effect of chain better. The way it ate away the skin, a small torture in itself. After a while, every movement was agony. It was perfection. Those other girls, they were the tests. She, she was his crowning glory. He would have to make sure he didn't waste it. He started drugging the water today. By the time he had worked up to double the initial amount, she had noticed. He knew it wouldn't be that easy again. No matter. After watching her pass out, he walked into the room dragging a chair with him. He unlocked the shackle around her ankle and lifted her, gently into the chair. She was lighter than he expected. That was okay with him. He knew she was stronger than she looked. Her head fell back as he tied her arms behind her and to the chair. For extra measure he circled he waist with the rope and fastened it to the back. That way if she passed out, she'd still be sitting up. He stepped back pleased with his work. She sat, tied to that chair, unconscious. He was suddenly overcome with a rage he hadn't experienced since he was a teenager. The light flashed on and he knew that computer lady was watching. He knew she thought she was smarter than him. They all thought they were smarter than him, that damn team, but they weren't. He was smarter than all of them and now was the time to prove it. All his studying, planning and practice was about to pay off. He stepped back up to his prize, pulled his arm back and slapped the girl. Her head twisted violently to the side. He slapped her again, expressing his rage reveling in the joy that replaced it. Her head now hung to the front. Her hair fell, covering her face hiding the red handprints on her cheeks. He cracked his knuckles and walked out. Smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

He watched as they forced him out of the house. Their words were still running through his mind. There was no way he could have done all the things they accused him of. No way. He wasn't bad. He was his brother. They opened the door to the squad car and guided him in. He watched the blinds rattle in the wind. One of those stupid cops got in the driver side door. His big brother twisted in the backseat and looked up at him through the rear dash window. The cop cranked the car and drove off. He turned at the sound of someone climbing up the stairs. It was that weird, young guy. I bet I could take him, he thought. Just a few quick hits and it would be over. He would run out the back door, hop the fence and be gone before the other suits downstairs even noticed.

"Owen?" the guy in the sweater said. "Owen, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. Would you like to talk?"

Owen turned back to the window, hoping the guy would leave. Unfortunately, he didn't. This Dr. Spencer Reid moved closer to him and sat on his bed.

"Owen, I….I know things look a little rough right now. I mean, the police just took your brother away in handcuffs but he did some really bad things. He needs help, Owen and he's going to a place where, hopefully he'll get it."

He rolled his eyes and huffed. Idiot. All idiots. His brother was not to blame for all those stupid girls dying. It was someone else. It just had to be. He stayed silent. If talking was what this man wanted, he wouldn't say a word. Not to him, not against his brother. He simply stared out the window. All those cops were still down there. Some of them were laughing! Instantly his body grew warm with the flame of rage. His heartbeat quickened and his breath pulled through his teeth in gasps. They all think he's guilty, every single on of them. They didn't even care.

He must have been breathing louder than he realized because the sweater noticed.

"Owen? Are you alright? Do you need some water? It's going to be okay." He said trying to be comforting, but failing miserably.

Owen stood up.

"No. I don't need any damn water, you stupid idiot. I need my brother! You pigs shoved your way into our house, beat him up and put him in handcuffs, dragging him outside. He didn't even do anything! You're all so stupid, doing whatever the hell you want, to whoever you want. You don't even care!" He felt the fury rising into his chest. He balled his fists ready to hit something. He might only be 15 years old but he had been fighting since he was 7. He could beat this tall, skinny geek. He was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming urge to beat this man's face in. To feel his blood over his fingers, hear his skull crunching as his punches cracked his face open. The thought made him smile.

The man just looked at him. Not really surprised at Owen's outburst. Suddenly there was another man at the door.

"Hey, Reid. You okay in here?" the bigger man asked. He watched Owen, his eyes asking for the fight the 15 year old had been ready to start.

"Yes, Morgan. We're fine. I was just talking to Owen." The man on the bed said.

"Well, I just got off the phone with the kid's grandfather. He's coming down from Detroit. Owen will live with him, since his brother was his guardian." Morgan said.

Owen sat back down. Live with his grandfather? That was not what he wanted. Panic set in. He remembered stories from his childhood about the brutality of his dad's father. Things were just getting worse.

Morgan turned, heading back down the stairs.

"Hotch is waiting, Reid. Let's head out."

Dr. Spencer Reid, still sitting on the bed, stood up. He brushed his pants and walked toward the door.

"Good Luck, Owen." He said, turning and following the other man.

Owen turned and stared back out the window. His grandfather was coming and his hell was just beginning. His mom was dead, his father was worthless, and his brother had just been carted off to jail. At that very moment, he made a promise to himself. One day, someone would pay for all of this. He would make sure of it.

"You'll pay for this." He whispered to himself.

Spencer Reid watched the young man starting out the window. The wind ruffled his shaggy hair as it breezed through the window. Somewhere deep inside, he felt something he couldn't explain. He couldn't put a finger it. That frightened him more than anything. He had never seen anything like the anger in the kid's eyes as he shouted at Spencer. If Morgan hadn't shown up, who knows what would have happened. As he began to make his way down the stairs, a chill ran down his spine. He twisted around, catching the words spat into the wind:

"You'll pay for this."

The young Doctor knew, right away, that someday he would.

She twisted in the seat. She couldn't move. Her brain slammed against the sides of her skull. Her face was on fire. The drugs left her foggy and nauseous. Her hands were bound behind her with ropes so tight she could feel the pulse in her wrists. She vaguely remembered being lifted and placed in the chair. She shivered at the thought of his hands on her.

Panic.

The door opened. He walked in; tall, skinny with shaggy blonde hair. This was the first time she had ever really seen him, she realized. He slammed the door shut. She flinched, pulling her bonds even tighter. The rope that held her hands dug even harder into her flesh. He paced in front of her, hands up behind his head. He seemed very frustrated to her, which she considered to be a strange emotion given the circumstances. She just watched him as he turned left, right, left, right, left, never saying a word. Suddenly he stopped directly in front of her and walked closer. He came so close she could smell his breath; mint. Strange. He was clean-shaven, not unattractive except for his eyes. His eyes held an anger she had never seen. She knew that such anger only sprang from a deep hate. A hatred so strong that it was all consuming and unforgiving. This man hadn't thought about anything else in a very long time. She memorized his face. If she lived, she would never forget it. He then did something that frightened her more than anything else he could have done. He smiled. A full, bit toothed grin, his eyes widened in excitement. Preoccupied, she only noticed his hand when it made contact with her cheek. Her head whipped to the left. The chair rocked backward and for a split second she was convinced she would fall but he held her fast. Tears welled in her eyes, falling only as his hand made contact with the opposite side of her face. She bit her tongue. Blood filled her mouth, gagging her as she struggled to keep her cries internalized. He hit her a third time, and a fourth before she blacked out.

He stared at her, thoroughly disappointed at her loss of consciousness after only his fourth slap. He rushed out of the room, returning less than a minute later with a bucket of cold water. He reared the bucket back, but stopped short. It sloshed over the edge. He set the bucket down and left the room again. Returning this time with a long, clean edged knife. Stuffing it in the back pocket of his dirty jeans, he picked up the bucket and threw the water on her still body.

She gasped, screamed and choked all at the same moment. The resulting action left her throat scratched and raw. She coughed and spat the water from her mouth as her body reeled in shock from the sudden surprise. As the water dripped from her eyes, the shivers began. She looked at him through the haze of moisture and eyelash.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

He reached behind and pulled the sharpened blade from his pocket. She cried out.

"Please! Please don't. Please. I….I….please." the terror now stronger than her sense of cognitive reasoning.

He walked up to where his prisoner sat, soaking wet, tied to a chair. His hand was sweating from the grip on the knife. Her cries and tears sent chills up and down his arms. He thought back to that day in his bedroom as he sat watching his brother climb into the back of that patrol car. He embraced the hatred that flooded his memory as he recalled that young doctor sitting on his bed trying to tell him that his brother needed help and that things would be okay. He endured years of beatings at the hands of his grandfather because of that man. He spent days locked in a tiny, dark closet for the smallest indiscretion. His grandfather would open the door, push through a water bottle then quickly slam it shut. He stopped and closed his eyes, blocking out the memory. It was his time now. The show was officially about to start. He dreamed of this day. Once again in control, he opened his eyes. She was staring at him. It was delicious. He licked his lips and re-established his grip on the knife. Her eyes focused on the blade. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. It was turning purple from the last time he touched her. She closed her eyes.

"Please. P-Please don't." She whimpered

He waited for the light to flash on before taking his place. Slowly and with more control than he though he possessed, he dragged the blade along her bicep. Blood welled at the surface of the cut. He watched as it began to drip down her arm, fueling his hunger. He cut again, just a little deeper. She screamed and struggled. This was so much better than he could have imagined. He cut her a third time on the same arm before moving to the other. The first cut, the same as before so he could watch the blood rush to the surface, deeper the second time and still deeper on the third. She now had six symmetrical slices cut into her left and right arms. She cried freely now. Disgusting. This was only the beginning. Things were going to get worse for her but oh, so much better for him.

Garcia gasped as she watched this man cut into Lindley's arms. She fought against her restraints. Her mouth twisted open into a painful scream. There was no sound to the video feed but Garcia could hear the scream anyway. She gripped the side of her desk, watching the scene of horror play out in front of her. When the feed went dark she lost all control of her emotions. She turned in her chair, tears flowing freely down her face. She looked about craving the reassurance of human touch, but found herself surrounded only by the cold, artificial light her computer monitors. She sobbed, for Lindley, Reid, and her team, at her helplessness. She only noticed the shrill song of the phone after the second ring.

Derek. She connected.

"Hey baby girl." Her friend greeted. Garcia cried. Everything she had just witnessed stumbled out of her mouth. She wasn't even sure he would understand what was happening. She cried even harder. Finally finished she waited for a response. She listened for words of comfort or hope, reassurance that they were doing everything in their power to find her but received only silence.


	6. Chapter 6

Keep your poker face Morgan. He thought. He had dialed Garcia back, interested in an update on the videos she was receiving. Judging by her reaction over the phone something big had just happened. He could still hear her sobs on the other side of the call, he only hoped Reid didn't. His stomach dropped with the new urgency of their situation. He had to do whatever it took to keep the young man calm. He glanced at the seat next to him. For once he was thankful Reid's mind was elsewhere. Morgan was at a loss. The man never struggled for words but nothing he thought of seemed to be enough to provide any sort of comfort to Garcia.

"Listen baby, I'll call you back okay?" He whispered into the phone watching Reid the entire time. He hated to let her down like that but at this moment in time, he was more concerned about Reid. The kid didn't even look his way. Morgan wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

The SUV pulled to a stop at the police station, all six members of the Behavior Analysis Unit got out and quickly walked inside the brick building. Morgan made eye contact with Hotch, gesturing to his leader his need to speak privately. Hotch crossed over to him and both men watched as Reid followed Prentiss into the building.

"Hotch, something has happened to Lindley. Garcia's received e-mails with video files attached. The unsub….he's torturing her."

Aaron Hotchner's world spun with the memories of everything this team had been through together; Haley's murder, his own near death experience, Hinkle and Reid's addiction. Now this? Hotch wasn't sure Reid was strong enough for this one. The boy genius was slowly withdrawing into himself and the longer his sister was missing, the less likely he was to come back.

"Hotch?" Morgan called, snapping him out of his mental timeline.

"Let's get inside. We'll talk about it in there." Hotch said. Morgan looked like he wanted to say more, but kept his mouth shut at his leader's direction.

As the two men made their way into the building, they were instantly greeted with a flurry of activity. Apparently this unsub has sent the world of the Charlotte Metro Police Department into a tizzy. Everywhere they looked men and women took notes from phone calls and shuffled through files of papers. The smell of burnt coffee lingered in the air suggesting the true source of the room's buzzing energy. In the center of the busy room was a large dry erase board with pictures of the four missing women taped in a row. Reid stood in front of Lindley's picture. No one on the team knew he had a sister. Morgan stared at her picture from behind. Now that he saw her, he could easily see the similarities; and the differences. It was easy to tell that Reid's mind was always calculating, you could see it in his eyes. Sometimes it was like he looked right through you. The kid only saw facts and numbers in way of the people and places that surrounded him. Morgan was pretty sure Reid was happier that way. Hard facts and formulas were easy. It was human interaction that he struggled with.

Morgan profiled Lindley's picture. Young, brunette, active, she was intelligent, but not a genius like her brother. Her eyes were lit with excitement that led him to believe she excelled in social situations. People liked her and it was clear why. She drew you in and made you feel like you'd known her forever. He imagined how effortless a conversation with her would be. It was amazing to think that she and Reid shared the same genes. Almost as if he had heard his thoughts about him, Reid turned around to face Morgan. Their eyes briefly meeting as he walked past. Morgan sighed at the look he saw on Reid's face. The boy was breaking.

"Alright, listen up. This is Agent Hotchner with the FBI's Behavior Analysis Unit. They're going to take lead with the Barrett case." Captain Emerson announced to his force. Hotch stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Captain Emerson has kept us up to date with information from the previous three homicides. We believe that they are connected even though all three women were murdered in different ways and their bodies were found spread throughout the city. We believe he abducted Miss Sutton, Miss Denners and Miss Archer in practice for his fourth victim, Miss Barrett" Hotch said pointing to each picture as he spoke each woman's name.

"Why?" came a call from the back. "What does the fourth victim have to do with the other three?"

Hotch didn't answer right away. His gaze flittered over to the corner where Reid stood. He looked completely out of place in the room. For the first time in years, Aaron Hotchner wondered if Spencer Reid was too young for this job. Hotch knew he had to be delicate in his answer to the room of waiting faces. Technically Reid shouldn't be working the case, but he knew better than to keep the young man out of the loop. There was a very good chance that Reid was going to be the one to fit all the pieces together in the end. As he prepared to provide an explanation to the room Emily answered in a way that only she could.

"This" She said pointing to the tall man wearing a sweater vest in the corner, "is Doctor Spencer Reid. Lindley Barrett is his sister. We'll need any information you have on this case." Every eye in the room fell on one man. His body seemed to sag with the weight of the stares cast in his direction. Slowly, Reid lifted his head scanning the length of the room. His mind taking in more in those few seconds than anyone else would have gathered in a few hours. He stood up straight and made his way across the room. No one said anything. Suddenly, this wasn't just about a pretty young girl who had gone missing. This was the realization that it could have been any one of them on the other side of this case. It could have been their sister, mother, daughter or wife. As Reid crossed the room and walked out the door, every man and woman in that room saw themselves in his shoes and their pity for him grew. This was now personal for each of them. Lindley Reid Barrett would be found, and she would be found alive. This was the case that would stay with them all for the rest of their lives.

He burst through the front doors of the police building, gasping for air. His body shaking, he leaned over the handrail and gave into the dry heaves that rose from his empty stomach. As his muscles settled he slid to the ground and wiped the sweat off his face. He pulled his knees to his chest. This was too much. His wandering mind took him to places he never wanted to go, always assuming the worse in any situation. Would he know if she was dead? Would he feel it? He hadn't even known she'd existed for several years and now he was on the verge of losing her. They had nothing to go on in this case, but had surely solved others with less. Only, he couldn't remember any. He couldn't focus and he feared that would cost his sister his life. The doors to the building slowly opened. He wanted nothing more than to be alone, but wasn't surprised when someone sat beside him.

JJ.

She put her arm around him, but made no effort for conversation. She couldn't tell him things would be alright and she wouldn't try. Empty words were useless. Spencer Reid accepted her company.

* * *

She realized the beauty and peace of unconsciousness was slowly slipping away. Clinging to the final wisps of darkness, she bit back a cry of desperation as the awareness of her situation grew. The copper tang of her blood lingered in the air. Her arms were slick with the red runoff. She opened her eyes and watched as the room swam. The pounding in her head grew to a climax as she struggled to hold back her sick. She yelped as the light flooded the room and embraced the merciful darkness as it closed around her again.

Owen licked his lips. The joy he was experiencing was better than any drug he could have gotten his hands on. He watched as tiny drops of blood collected into bigger puddles on the stone floor. He was then struck with a thought: What if she bled out? He knew human bodies held quite a bit of blood, but he wasn't sure how much. That was something he couldn't let happen, he was having too much fun! He left the mirror, returning with several rolls of bandage. When he opened the door he was overwhelmed with the metallic ring of blood in the air. A small laugh escaped from his lips. Things could not have been going any better. Owen wrapped the bandages around her arms staunching the wounds. He lifted her head up and ran his thumb along her jaw line. She really was beautiful. It was a shame but his need for vengeance was greater than his need for THAT kind of satisfaction. It was time, he decided for step two.

They both screamed; she with pain and he with pleasure. The electricity flowed through her body in waves. She strained against the bonds around her wrists, her head thrown back in pure agony. He relished her terror. He turned the knob, getting higher than he had with any of those other girls. She was stronger than he had given her credit for. It pleased him even more. Her screams grew hoarse and he knew they would eventually be silent cries that no one but he could hear. That might be his favorite part. She bled for him and now she cried for him. Vengeance is oh, so sweet.

* * *

She stared at the icon on her screen letting her know she had received an e-mail. She knew what it was; what it contained and it scared her to death. Gathering all the strength she had, she clicked the icon, preparing herself for what she would see on the screen. As the video feed lit up, Garcia cried out. Lindley was struggling against the ropes that held her to the chair. Her mouth strained in a terrifying scream. Her arms were wrapped, but she could tell where the blood had seeped through.

Garcia held the chair so she wouldn't leave the room. It took her a second to realize there was someone else in the room. The unsub. He was in the shot and for the first time they had an image. A lead, something to work with to save Lindley. It was his first mistake but it wouldn't be his last. Garcia picked up the phone, ready to dial Hotch when a cold chill ran down her spine. No one else had seen these videos. The last thing she wanted was for her boy genius to see his baby sister sliced open, electrocuted and tortured. Was his sanity the price they were going to pay for his sister's life? She put the phone back down.


End file.
